Canticle of the Damned
by turtlevenom
Summary: "If you water a plant with poison it will embrace it and flower accordingly or die." - Terpsichore Lindeman "You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats." – Colonial proverb Glee/Gotham City Sirens AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This story will involve Glee characters and pairings but will rely heavily on the DCU Batman/Gotham universe, Specifically, I'm using the events and characterizations in Gotham City Sirens. Reading GCS is not necessary and I wont follow that plot exactly, but it you are ever lost in the story, it might prove helpful.

* * *

It was raining again. Quinn hated the rain. Perhaps out in the country or in the untouched rainforests of South America rain was cleansing, refreshing even. But here in Gotham City, it was liquid filth; a combination of soot, pollution and acid rain that seemed to exist only to sink into her hair and skin and then slide nauseatingly under her collar and down her neck. Though the grime of a humid summer rainstorm was something she detested, Quinn quite enjoyed the way moisture made blows delivered by her bullwhip sting just a little bit more. As a well-placed strike drew a pained grunt from the man charging at her, Quinn smiled to herself. Yes, she enjoyed that quite a lot.

Catwoman was trouble. Trouble for the Gotham Police Department, certainly trouble for wealthy society matrons with hoards of expensive jewelry, and even trouble for the Batman himself. In all honesty, thwarting the Bat was one of the best parts of her job. Quinn didn't steal for the money, but for the challenge; the ability to do as she pleased, answering to no one while surrounding herself with pretty things. She also liked the thrill and the flash but she had to admit this wasn't really her style.

As far as Quinn was concerned, back-alley brawls had no style at all. She leapt from an overflowing dumpster to a rusty fire escape just in time to avoid getting crushed by an enormous metallic fist, acknowledging that it might behoove her to take this situation more seriously. And seriously, she had no clue who this guy was. He'd dropped in on the tail end of a job so easy a toddler could do it. Tonight was her first "working night" in a long while; she couldn't possibly have offended anyone that badly yet. With the way he was waving around those preposterous mechanized gloves, Quinn thought it best to get to higher ground before she started asking questions.

"Would you mind telling me what the hell your problem is?" Quinn tried to catch her breath as she eyed the hulk in front of her for weaknesses. Aside from his ridiculous outfit, she could find none. He was well over six feet of solid muscle and appeared to be normal if you didn't count the metal claws. At least he wasn't a metahuman. She made a mental note to stay out of arms reach though because meta or not, this guy was in the process of punching the brick wall beneath her to bits, gravely jeopardizing her perch on the fire escape ladder.

Mr. Hand peered up at her with a manic grin.

"You can call me the Boneblaster. See?" he said holding up his fist proudly before slamming it back into the wall with such force that Quinn felt her teeth rattle and the screws in the ladder shake a little bit loose. "I'm called the Boneblaster because I can use my handy gloves to turn you to mush."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the name but decided to remain silent. After all, a girl that called herself Catwoman really wasn't in a position to mock anyone else's chosen moniker. Instead she listened halfheartedly as Boneblaster continued to ramble on about himself.

"I know who you are, Catwoman, and I must say that I'm honored. Back in your day, you were a real role model for an aspiring supervillain. Before you went soft, that is. Still, knocking you off will still be a huge boost to my street cred." He appeared pensive for a moment. " I guess I could think of you as an appetizer to start my feast of glory. Next, I can take on the real big boys like the Penguin or the Joker or even the Bat himself.

Quinn had heard enough. Soft? She hadn't gone soft; she had nearly died. But she wasn't about to split hairs with some punk straight out of juvie. Like hell would she be any one's appetizer, let alone in relation to the Penguin. That fatty had been taken to Arkham more times than she had robbed the Gotham Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. And that was saying a lot. She launched herself at him, claws bared.

"Fuck." She was pretty sure she had just broken her hand.

He laughed at her. "Hard head right? That's what all my teachers said. Bet it's not as hard as my fist though."

His punch caught her square in the middle, cracking several of her ribs. Quinn nearly passed out from the pain. Circling her whip over her head she looped it around his thick neck and pulled.

He cackled again, "Try again, Pussycat." Reaching up, he grabbed the whip and yanked her off her feet and into the wall he'd just been pummeling. It appeared her initial assessment was correct. This guy had no physical weaknesses. But looking into his eyes as he approached, Quinn saw her advantage. He was strong sure, but he was cocky, inexperienced and far less intelligent than her. Gritting her teeth and ignoring the stabbing pain in her side, Quinn dived between his legs as he lunged for her. Before she could regain her footing, Boneblaster grabbed her by the throat. The pressure was at once unbearable and unfamiliar. Her confusion must have shown on her face.

"It's the sonic pulse in my gloves that does it, you know? Yeah, its grotesque, but the new boy in town has to be creative if he's going to build a rep." His grip tightened. Fine cracks started to spread across the tinted lenses of Quinn's goggles. She felt herself getting weaker as her vision blurred around the edges. There would only be one chance with this. Looking up at her captor, she smiled.

"What the hell are you laughing at, Pussycat. You'll be bone dust in a few seconds" Quinn's grin widened.

"Oh nothing. I'm just amused at how much of an amateur you are." Her audacity surprised him just enough for Quinn to reach behind her for the loose power cable hanging from the landing above. Boneblaster shook her like a rag doll until she bit her tongue and her head bounced against the unforgiving brick.

"If I'm so clueless, why are you the one gasping for breath?" Typical meathead, Quinn thought. A smart person would just punch her face in and be done with it. But ego was always the way to beat these guys. Or more specifically, to stall and distract them enough to put the diamond tipped claws in her gloves to good use.

"Well, your gimmick is good, I'll give you that," she rasped out. "But for all your muscle, you don't have much control over your toys. I'll bet you stole these gloves and didn't even take the time to get them insulated." Quinn chuckled as understanding spread over his face. "Yes, insulation is crucial. That's why I make sure to take very good care of my gloves and boots. "

Before he could react, Quinn took the cable she'd unraveled and created a circuit using the metal gloves. The electricity flowed up his arms and into the rest of his body and the mighty Boneblaster let out a decidedly un-masculine scream. He crumpled to the ground, still twitching. His fried gloves sputtered and smoked.

"That seemed painful," Quinn murmured. She used a combination of utility rope and the duct tape she always carried with her to tie him to an iron pipe along the side of the building. She was grateful that he remained unconscious so she could secure him and leave him for Gotham PD. Under the muscle and bravado, it was clear that he was just a kid. She would have hated to seriously hurt him. He was lucky he'd picked her to cut his teeth on. No other "villain" in Gotham had any such aversion to maiming or killing.

But Quinn had had her share of violence. That was in the past.

She gingerly leaped up to the roof, keeping an eye on the huddled mass hog-tied in the alley. As the adrenaline faded, uncertainty moved in.

"My accident was months ago. I've been treated by the best doctors in the galaxy. How did a steroid junkie with sonic oven mitts almost take me down?"

Quinn knew that only her quick wits had saved her. She'd been moving slower than usual and her endurance levels were pitiful. Worse, she was tentative. One thing you couldn't say about Catwoman, or about Quinn Fabray for that matter, was that she was timid. The entire purpose of this outing was to prove that nothing was wrong but now she had more doubts than before. Something was definitely off and if she didn't fix it, Catwoman would exhaust her eight remaining lives far faster than planned.

Quinn sighed. That was a worry for tomorrow. Right now she had a mess to clean up. She dialed the number of her favorite Gotham detective. When she heard the greeting on the other end, she spoke into the phone.

"I got you a present."

* * *

"I got you a present"

Alone in the GPD precinct office, the man laughed. Despite the heavy encryption on the call, he would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Oh yeah", the he chuckled into the phone, "Where?" He could tell that Catwoman was smiling.

"Hmm. Just a few blocks over from that spot where you tried and failed to arrest me. The first time."

"I'm glad you remember your first time with Puckzilla." Puck grinned at Catwoman's exasperated sigh. "What?, did your party get too crowded tonight or did you just want to see my face?"

After taking down the details, Puck set down the receiver and stood to stretch his sore muscles. Not that he regretted it, but he'd expected the job of Gotham City Police Commissioner to be more cushy and glamorous. Instead, he worked more hours than when he'd been a junior detective. Still, duty called and though he'd rather be at home sleeping or better yet sleeping with an attractive woman, his responsibility to Gotham came first.

He sat back down, rifling though his open case files and muttering to himself. "Back to work, Puck. Crime never sleeps." Reclining back, he'd just begun looking over the witness statements from a particularly gruesome double homicide when he heard the voice behind him.

"And apparently, neither do you,"

Puck whipped around so quickly he nearly spilled his long cold coffee onto a stack of crime scene photos. The man in his office was tall and imposing. Covered in a dark cape, he seemed to blend in with the shadows. His eyes burned with an intensity that made most criminals flee in terror. If it weren't for the fact that he'd known this man since college, Puck might actually have been wary. Wary, not afraid. Noah Puckerman wasn't scared of anything. Except maybe the woman who'd just called him.

"Batman, how's it hanging. What brings you lurking around my turf tonight?" Puck always enjoyed being extremely impertinent with the Bat. For one, it was endlessly amusing how he scared everyone else shitless. Puck felt it his solemn duty to take the piss out of him every once in a while. Second, he knew the man underneath the cowl. Cover persona or not, anyone who had seen Finn Hudson drunkenly hitting on his own portly housekeeper would find it next to impossible to summon the appropriate level of reverence.

"I got word of a disturbance tonight in the Park District and wanted to know why Gotham PD wasn't on the scene."

Puck bristled. "My boys can't be everywhere at once. The majority of all available detectives are trying to ensure that the Joker actually remains in Arkham this time." He looked out over the city, still brightly lit despite the late hour. "The patrolmen who aren't still in the hospital are busy maintaining order and helping with the reconstruction. Now that the National Guard has left, we're stretched pretty thin."

He stepped closer to the Batman, challenging. "And if your intelligence is so good and you clearly have time time visit me, why weren't you there, huh? Since when does Catwoman have to do both our jobs?"

Batman's jaw clenched. Puck thought he looked like he might kick something. Namely Puck. His voice was tight when he finally spoke, "There is something brewing and the Justice League has called us to Metropolis. I need to know that you can handle the city while I'm gone. I need -"

"Us?" Puck sneered, "The Justice League is going to let you bring a minor to the clubhouse now? Is Rory even old enough to drink? Or drive?"

Batman continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "I need to know that you can take care of Gotham without involving criminals, Commissioner Puckerman"

Puck knew where this was going. He tried to deflect. "I've told you dozens of times to call me Puck"

"And I've told you dozens of times to keep Catwoman out of police business!" This was the most substantial reaction Puck had seen from his friend in a while. Batman's voice had risen as he'd leaned over the desk. As if looming menacingly would drive his point home. Puck was done with this.

"Look man, I get that we are on the same team and all, but I don't work for you. I work for the people of Gotham. After all this city has been through lately, they just want to be safe." Looking over his notes from Catwoman's call, he reasoned that she was kind of like a confidential informant. Only better since every once in a while she kicked some serious ass. "We both know she was never evil. Not in the way you mean. I trust her."

Batman's hand flew out, gripping Puck by the collar and pulling him close. "You shouldn't; she's a thief and a murderer."

"She's kept your secret all these years" Puck smirked. He had the Bat there. Catwoman knew exactly who the Batman was, knew exactly who Finn Hudson was. Even more, she knew why. That was information even Puck wasn't privy to.

Batman refused to be swayed. "That's because I have something she wants." He let go of Puck's shirt. "You can't trust her any more that you can trust a feral alley cat in search of its next meal"

Puck straightened his tie, recognizing a lost cause. No one could out-stubborn the Batman. And yet, "I need her. We are undermanned and with you and Rory gone - "

"Fine. but if this is to happen, it will be on my terms."

Puck pinched the bridge of his nose, searching for his reserve of diplomacy. When he opened his eyes, he was once again alone in his office.

"Well, shit..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **For those of you have actually read Gotham City Sirens or know things about the Batfamily, I apologize for the way I plan to take liberties with the chronology. I hope that doesn't ruin it for you.

* * *

Many things came naturally to Santana Lopez; looking hot, gardening, pretty much any science, masterful plotting, etc. Right now, she lazed in the afternoon sun reflecting on how effortlessly she could kill the Joker. Sure, a toxic kiss required the least effort, but she'd take a weedwacker to herself before she kissed that freak. Poison darts worked too quickly. She really wanted him to suffer. It probably reflected poorly on her humanity that she often planned ways to kill a paraplegic. _Oh well. _She rolled over fell into a glorious daydream featuring a giant Venus flytrap digesting a wheelchair when a shadow appeared above her, blocking out the sun.

Since only one person could enter her private refuge without foaming at the mouth and dropping dead, she wasn't surprised when something warm and soft dropped on top of her. Brittany leaned over to rest her chin on Santana's shoulder.

She rolled over and squinted up at her best friend. "Hey!" The skin on Brittany's forehead and cheeks flushed a bright red. "You got sunburned"

Brittany stretched out on the hammock with her, swinging it with one foot on the ground. "Nah, I'm just rusty at photosynthesis. We can't all be gifted like you," she teased. She leaned closer noting the crease between Santana's brows, "You're angry."

Santana looked away. It was impossible to lie to Brittany if she looked her in the eye. "No, I'm not"

"But you were. Are you mad at me?" The way the smile melted from Brittany's face made Santana feel like she'd just kicked a puppy. She wasn't mad at Brittany and told her so. It was impossible to stay upset with Brittany for any meaningful period of time. Santana was just frustrated.

"Because of Artie?" Brittany ventured, shifting to the edge of the hammock and sitting up.

Santana recoiled at the sound of _his_ name. She much preferred using _him _or _it. _Actually, she preferred not discussing him at all unless it was to plan dipping him into a boiling vat of her fabulous toxins. "Yes" she said. "Why wont you let me kill him?" She knew the answer to that question.

"Because I love him, Santana."

Santana took in Brittany's crossed arms and the way she'd squared her jaw. Still, she tried reason. "Britt, he tried to kill you. Again!" You might persuade Santana to write attempted murder off as love play. No pain, no gain right? But, the Joker was also an awful boyfriend. He manipulated Brittany and made her feel like shit. Their relationship was beyond unhealthy. That argument wouldn't make any traction, though. The last time she'd tried that angle, Brittany refused to speak to her for a week.

As she'd said to Santana many times, _When you love someone, you don't give up on them. _In her mind, that was that. Brittany opened her mouth, probably to list the many examples illustrating _Artie's_ love for her. Santana got up and stalked away into the trees.

_When you love someone, you don't give up on them. _

_Ridiculous. _That kind of love was a sickness. It made women weak. It made a certified psychologist fall irrevocably in love with a homicidal manic. It turned a highly intelligent and educated woman into a puppet. Santana had seen that movie. Being in love with a man is what had left her more plant than human. Well _desiring_ to be in love with a man, anyway.

Santana wasn't blind. She saw the parallels between her lamentable affair with the professor who had used her body as a Petri dish and Brittany's tragic relationship. She knew why it bothered her so much when Brittany went back to him. But she also recognized that Brittany's motivations weren't the desperation of a self-hating closet lesbian. No, her feelings were real.

In retrospect, she hadn't loved Dr. Woodrue. She'd just been so eager to please, to be normal, to fit. Actual feeling was probably worse. She looked back in Brittany's direction. Much worse.

Once, Santana had saved Brittany from one of Stubbles' more brutal attacks. Brittany's body had healed rapidly with the use of her unique hybrid creations. She'd woken stronger and more agile than before with a bonus of immunity to most poisons. If only Santana could cure her mind and set it free from the Joker's sick games.

She turned to go make up with Brittany. It would be simple. Brittany rarely stayed angry long. She was simple. Like a sunflower, all she needed was warmth and love.

If only she were actually a flower. Then, Santana could protect her.

* * *

On her way back, Santana felt a disturbance in the soil. She cocked her head listening. This wasn't a disturbance; this was a message.

It was unsurprising to see the dozen or so police officers daring to ruin the paradise she'd created. Their heavy boots trampled her flowers as the machetes they carried hacked at low hanging branches. _Men._ Really, destruction was all they were good for. That and body odor. A few of the more adventuresome policemen were dropped with nonlethal darts while the roots of the mutilated trees to restrained the rest.

"Is there a problem, Officer?"

Detective Sam Evans gaped. Poison Ivy's clothes, if you could all them that, left nothing to the imagination. He tried to keep his eyes on hers and his tongue in his mouth. Rumor had it she would kill a man just for having a Y-chromosome. He'd rather not give her an actual reason.

"Ivy", he said, "I thought that would get your attention." He pulled a document from his jacket pocket. "As per the ruling of the City Council, Gotham City PD has authorized me to reclaim the 30 block area known as Robinson Park. As reconstruction efforts continue, we aim to restore law and order in all public areas"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck as he refolded the paper. This wasn't going to go well. Ever since a superpowered earthquake destroyed much of Gotham, the city's criminals, human and metahuman alike, roved the streets in a relative free for all. The city's main park garnered little attention in the midst of chronic shootouts, turf wars and prison breakouts. Poison Ivy had shocked everyone by creating an oasis in the midst of the surrounding destruction. She had even used her crazy miracle-gro powers to feed many of Gotham's poor when emergency supplies ran out. Of all the persisting problems in the city, recovering the park was a low priority at best. He personally felt that the City Council just wanted to prove it still controlled things. But orders were orders.

He spread his hands in an attempt to placate her. "You understand, right?"

"Ha," she scoffed. "Law and order? There hasn't been a robbery, rape, or violent crime in this park for the last six months? If anything, we're all in danger of being sucked into that enormous black hole on your face. Don't pretend this is about civic safety, Trouty Mouth."

"Those officers don't look all that safe right now, ma'am." Sam retorted, motioning behind her. Santana shot an apathetic glance at the men struggling for air. Safety was relative. "And besides, this doesn't come from me. I've got bigger problems than pulling weeds, but the Batman insists."

Santana eyes narrowed dangerously. "You still take your orders from that overgrown rodent? Where is the Great White Dope of Gotham, anyway? Stuck down in his caves waiting for his minions to bring the Jaws of Life and pry him out?"

"That's funny, but I'm afraid you're still going to have to surrender the park," Sam said, folding his arms across his chest to hide the way his hands shook.

She arched her brow as if to ask, _How will you make me?_ Her confidence faded when Sam pointed to several large industrial trucks. They contained a pesticide strong enough to kill every plant, shrub and weed in the park. Including her.

She looked back at the park that had become her home. She thought of her babies and of Brittany still in there somewhere.

_Check._

* * *

Quinn slipped through the shattered skylight of the abandoned Gotham Arboretum. Dead branches and leaves crunched under her boots as she dropped to the floor. She looked around, crinkling her nose at the smell of dust and decay. It looked like no one had been home for a while. She pushed down the restless feeling in her stomach. It couldn't possibly be disappointment. No, she was just annoyed that she'd reached another dead end.

Soft laughter echoed behind her just before something wrapped around her ankles and yanked her feet from under her. Rolling over, she clawed her way free. The scraps in her hands weren't made of rope or leather. Her hand was tangled in vines.

"I'd watch out for the thorns, Quinn. They're poisonous."

She looked up into familiar blue eyes and a wide smile as Brittany stepped from the shadows. Quinn moved forward to embrace her when a voice stopped her.

"Well, look who's still alive and scratching. We were afraid your curiosity had finally gotten the best of you." Santana's dark eyes seemed to glitter with amusement at her own joke before they hardened. "While I love a melodramatic reunion as much as the next girl, I think you should fill us in on why you're lurking about uninvited"

"I saw you on the news" she said moving closer. Santana turned to keep Quinn in sight as she walked around the room.

"Spit it out Fabray. You know I hate when you do that prowling shit."

Quinn grinned, knowing the moonlight cast an eerie shadow over her face. "I've been looking for you since your eviction from Robinson Park. How did they get you to leave so submissively" Quinn wondered whether submissive accurately described a half a dozen hospitalized police officers. Then again, none of them died. A few light maimings was pretty tame for Santana.

"They made me an offer I couldn't refuse. But why, Quinn, are you _here_?" The vine remnants in Quinn's hand began to quiver, a sure sign of Santana's waning patience. It wouldn't serve her purpose to overly antagonize Santana right now.

"I've got a proposition for you."

"Finally!" Brittany cheered, pumping her fist. She looked over at Santana, smug. "I told you she-"

Santana cut her off more sharply than necessary, looking slightly flustered. "We're listening."

Brittany reached up to switch on a dim light bulb while Santana leaned against the to wall.

"You know, the three of us have been living on the edge way too long. When we're not running from the police we're fending off some costumed whack job. "

Brittany nodded, "Yeah, some guy dressed as Santa Claus tried to kidnap me last week." Santana grudgingly recalled her frequent clashes with GCPD over the past few years.

"Gotham is worse than ever for girls like us. That gives us a choice -we can get out, or band together."

She felt those dark eyes on her, searching. Quinn resisted the urge to squirm. "You've always been the cat who walked by herself. Why the sudden change?" Santana asked. Her eyebrows rose as if she'd just solved a complex puzzle. "Is it because of the rumors of a new Batman in town. One you aren't sleeping with?" She made a victorious little sound in her throat, slinking towards Quinn, bringing a cloud of floral perfume with her. "I bet its true. Though if it is, I question your judgment. The new Bat is highly disappointing. It's like he dropped a few IQ points and gained several pounds. Still, he's probably right up _your_ alley."

Brittany looked up from where she sat on the windowsill. "Gross."

"I'm sure you have no idea what you're talking about, Santana. Stop being a bitch and give me an answer."

"Retract your claws, kitty. Or I might reject your offer." she looked to her friend. "Britt, a word?"

They withdrew to a dark corner, heads together in a smattering of hushed whispers. Santana made sure to summon vines around them so Quinn couldn't read their lips.

"What do you think?" Brittany asked.

Santana peeked though an opening in the vines to eye the way Quinn stood tapping her foot with thinly veiled irritation. "She's a good ally, if we can trust her. But I'm more concerned with why we haven't seen her in months."

Brittany shrugged, "Maybe she hibernates. Look San, I know you don't trust her, but if she can keep GCPD and those Bats off our backs, it might be worth it."

The cocoon parted. "Fine, we're in. but how exactly is this going to work"

"Quinn should stay here." Brittany seemed to not notice the way Santana's face twisted as if the idea physically pained her. She looked instead to Quinn. "We haven't seen you in ages. You have to stay."

It was pretty much settled after that. Quinn couldn't reject such an earnest appeal and she knew from experience that Santana rarely won an argument with Brittany. This time, she didn't even try.

Brittany beamed at them both. She tugged Quinn into a bone-crushing hug, turning to Santana saying, "Try not to kill her, though. I think Lord Tubbington would like having another cat in the house again."

"You killed her cat?" Quinn asked.

Santana shrugged and said. "She ate one of my plants. She died. At least the fat one knows not to eat everything in sight. Its ironic, really."

She stepped intimately close with a challenging glint in her eyes that set Quinn's teeth on edge. Strong arms slid across her shoulders and gently reeled her in until she felt silky hair brush along her jaw. Quinn froze when soft lips grazed her ear before releasing a puff of hot air against her neck. Santana squeezed her tightly and whispered, "Welcome to the jungle, kitten." Quinn tried to focus on returning the embrace and not the way that smoky rasp sent chills down her spine.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn never really played well with others. She'd flown solo for years. Most of the time, she preferred it that way. In her profession, partnerships didn't last and trust was overrated. Between greed, ego, and simple incompetence, someone always got hurt. With Santana and Brittany though, she wasn't sure what to expect. They'd worked together a few times in the past, but they'd been adversaries just as often as allies. She certainly couldn't say that cohabitation had been part of her plan, yet she couldn't say it wasn't without its benefits. Quinn usually traveled light, especially since she'd started avoiding her old apartment. She'd gotten sloppy with security and it had almost cost her life. Even months later, she knew she'd never sleep there again. Moving in with her new associates was as good an excuse as any to pack up and never look back.

Santana purchased the largest and most remote of the arboretum's outbuildings when public spending cutbacks forced the endowment to liquidate many of its assets. It was supposedly the estate of an old Gotham dynasty ruined when the head of the family got indicted for securities fraud. The manor and its surrounding acres became public property. The city overhauled it as part of Mayor Figgins' brief and ill-fated attempt to turn Gotham into "the next big green-city." If the campaign hadn't been so ineptly run and corrupt, Santana probably wouldn't have sabotaged it. .

The earthquake destroyed a good portion of the house but miraculously left the laboratory and greenhouse intact. Santana declared these the only portions of the property worthy of her attention and left Brittany and Quinn to deal with the extensive damage in the main living areas. They nailed, hammered, cleaned and scraped while Santana floated around, calling out unhelpful instructions. The one time Quinn subtly suggested she help, a cluster of sprouts hidden in the floorboards shot a plume of pollen directly into her face. Hours later, when she'd finally stopped sneezing, Santana casually mentioned how lucky it was that Quinn was only _mildly_ allergic. Quinn still wasn't sure if she was kidding.

Still, they succeeded in not killing each other within the first week. Santana, though always equipped with a caustic jibe, seemed mostly harmless if not outright jovial. She had an uncanny way of pushing Quinn's buttons. And really, she knew an astonishing number of cat jokes. Brittany, on the other hand, was very simple but very sneaky and absolutely crazy. As in literally insane. Quinn understood maybe half of what Brittany said. She eventually stopped trying and took to just nodding along. Still, the three of them managed to make the drafty old house feel something like home.

Brittany enjoyed cooking and controlled the kitchen with an iron fist. She cooked without recipe, measurement or any semblance of order, seemingly undeterred by Santana's running commentary of her numerous mistakes and _the ghastly and unforgivable liberties_ she took with Abuela's paella recipe. Quinn noticed, however, Santana still ate every bite. Brittany caught Quinn's eye once over a particularly spectacular batch of crepes and winked. This time Santana complained about Brittany's _gluttonous use of expensive_ _sugar_ before helping herself to seconds and thirds. Quinn smirked and kept eating, enjoying the inside joke.

Their little routines softened the isolation that had always smothered Quinn, sinking into her bones and making her cold from the inside. Brittany and Santana seemed to enjoy having her around and including her in their quirks. Gone, however temporarily, was the Quinn who stood on the outside looking in. In its place was a Quinn who didn't feel alone. She hadn't felt that way since she was a girl. It made her feel warm. She liked it. Just like she liked the way Brittany's face lit up when she forced Quinn to try some dubious concoction that always tasted better than it should have. She liked the way Santana watched Jeopardy nearly everyday, jeering at contestants like a drunk at a hockey game and berating Alec Trebec for being old, or Canadian, or something equally as absurd. She secretly enjoyed the way Brittany thought every occasion called for a hug. Most of all, Quinn loved the way Santana had taken to calling her _kitten_.

She'd just convinced Brittany to make her just a bacon omelet-and not a bacon omelet with chocolate syrup and sprinkles _just to see how it would taste-_when the TV blared with a breaking news update. There had been another break out at Arkham Asylum. Quinn watched as Brittany's features shifted from confusion to surprise and then hope. They waited to find out which inmates escaped, but instead they only heard a warning from local officials to take extreme caution and avoid going out at night.

"How is that different from what people should do on an ordinary night in Gotham?" Quinn asked, "Whoever escaped must be really bad if they refuse to even release the name."

Brittany focused on the stove and said in a small voice. "Do you think it could be Mr. J?"

Now Quinn understood the hopeful look. She knew Brittany had a thing with the Joker but she didn't really understand how someone so generally nice would work well with a mass murderer.

"Is that still a thing?" she asked. Brittany had claimed things were over with her former partner in crime. Quinn was less than convinced. She suspected they'd reunite sooner or later, regardless of Brittany's claims to the contrary. She'd seen relationships like these. Her own mother had proved that leaving was almost always temporary.

"Is the Joker still alive?" Santana answered, the bitterness in her voice indicating that the question was rhetorical.

Brittany grabbed Quinn's wrist. She leaned forward and said, "I bet he's coming back for me." The twinkle in her eyes sparked a sinking feeling in Quinn's stomach. The look on her face fell somewhere between moonstruck and fanatical.

"Back for you?" Santana cut in, "You mean back to maim you, torture you and kill you? If so, then I'd say yes" Under the obvious sarcasm, Quinn heard the hurt Santana kept barely concealed.

Quinn had to agree, "Are you really ready for another round of abuse, humiliation, and regret?"

Brittany didn't seem to hear her. Or she chose to ignore her.

"Brittany, you can't do this shit again. I'm not going to sit around and watch it." Brittany couldn't ignore the way Santana's voice rose or the way her fist slammed on the table.

"Santana. Stop yelling. You don't understand."

"You're right. I don't understand. For the life of me I can't grasp why you're acting like such an idiot." Santana froze even as the words left her mouth. Brittany appeared to stop breathing. Quinn could literally hear her own heart beating in the oppressive silence that followed. She continued to look between them until Brittany burst into tears and ran out of the room. Santana visibly deflated.

"There are three things Brittany hates," she said, "Yelling, people criticizing her relationships, and being called stupid. I'm 3 for 3 today."

"You just told her the truth." Quinn reasoned. She didn't really like how Santana looked so vulnerable and defeated.

"Things are never as simple as the truth, Quinn." Santana shrugged and went back to her lab; leaving Quinn feeling like this was about a lot more than the Joker's freedom.

* * *

Quinn didn't see either of them for the rest of the afternoon. The quiet made her uneasy and she wanted to help them patch things up, but she couldn't decide whom to approach first. Instead, she decided to be productive and went to see a man about a clown.

Puck's apartment was dark when she entered, but it wasn't empty. Following the faint smell of cigar smoke, she moved into the den, finding him reclining in an oversize chaise. The faint moonlight from the window placed his silhouette in stark relief. Ice cubes clink in his drink as he took a healthy swig of what her nose told her was mediocre scotch. Setting the glass down he let out a healthy belch.

"How charming," Quinn said from the shadows. To his credit, Puck didn't jolt or scream. He just choked a little on his cigar and turned to face her.

"Why do you people love to sneak up on me?" he said. He reached over and turned on the light revealing his faded t-shirt and patterned boxer shorts.

"If you're trying to tempt me, you were doing better with the light off, Commissioner."

Puck laughed. "Play hard to get all you want baby. I know you're dying for a ride."

Quinn resisted the urge to smile. She'd never understand why she enjoyed Puckerman. By all rights, she should hate him, but his blatant chauvinism and philandering couldn't hide the fact that he was a good guy who took his role as of Gotham's protector very seriously. Being rough around the edges himself, he adapted to curious situations better than his predecessor. These situations included conversing with a known criminal who'd broken into his home without attempting to arrest her.

They'd established a quirky rapport that let him focus on the big picture while she kept an ear to the street. She liked working with him as Catwoman-and-Commissioner Puckerman. Lord knows, Quinn-and-Noah didn't have the best track record. She wondered whether he'd actually try to take down Catwoman,_ his sexy cat burglar mistress-to-be,_ if he knew she and Quinn were one in the same. Her thoughts were interrupted when she realized Puck was speaking to her.

"-do for you?" Rather than ask him to repeat himself, she cut to the chase.

"So, the Joker's escaped again. This has to be a new record." She said. It was just a hunch, but the way Puck's lips tightened around his cigar told Quinn she was correct. Puck scowled into his drink. "We're working on it." He stood to refill his glass, making a second and handing it to her.

"Why don't you let me help?" she asked as she took the glass. She set it on the shelf behind her. "I think I have a plan"

"You know where the Joker is?" Puck looked as if he'd decided to humor her. Quinn thought it was admirable how he managed to look so superior in those ridiculous heart-covered shorts.

She crossed to the window. "No, but I imagine he'll come to me." Laughing softly at the confused look on Puck's face, she slid out into the crisp night air. "I'll be in touch."

When she returned home, it's darker than Puck's and twice as silent. Granted, it was the middle of the night, but it seemed more still than usual. Brittany could usually be counted on for a late night movie or just some company. She hoped the silence didn't mean the fight had gotten worse. She snuck to Brittany's door to check on her; soon realizing the door was slightly ajar.

Brittany and Santana laid together in the bed nearly nose to nose. They were fully clothed but the way they cuddled was so intimate. Quinn felt like an intruder, but she found herself rooted to the floor. Her heart beat faster as her mind screamed at her to leave before they saw her. Santana leaned to kiss Brittany on the forehead and Quinn experienced a burning rush of emotion that was a little like anger and a lot like the loneliness she thought she'd escaped.

* * *

It was as though the fight never happened. Quinn woke early the next morning to find them giggling as Brittany's enormous cat slid around the kitchen with small scrubbing pads attached to his feet. He meowed his displeasure up at Quinn clearly looking for sympathy

"That's animal cruelty," she said, straining to pick the cat up from the floor.

Santana reached out and petted the cat until he purred. Her hand moved dangerously close to Quinn's chest.

"Since Tubbs doesn't pay rent, he should help with the chores." She watched with laughing eyes as Quinn freed the cat from his degrading footwear and set him down. He brushed up against her calves as if in silent gratitude.

Before Quinn could, reply something large and metal crashed through the large window that took up most of the second floor wall. The hideously purple monstrosity skidded across the floor, leaving a trail of broken floorboards and destroyed furniture. An oversized replica of the Joker's face loomed over them from the front of the vehicle.

Santana shook broken glass out of her hair. "What the fuck is that?" She sounded angry, but the way her voice shook belied her belligerent words. Quinn reached for her whip and noticed her hands were shaking. Steeling herself she prepared for an attack.

Brittany's eyes never left that grotesque smile. "It's the Jokermobile" She seemed incapable of containing her excitement. "This just proves it! Artie wants me back. He's really pulling out all the stops." The enamored look on her face was enough to make Quinn further question her sanity.

A booming voice erupted from the vehicle, "Greetings ladies. For what its worth, I don't have anything against Miss Kitty Litter or the Flower Girl, my argument is with Brittany alone." The voice was a tinny and flat, like a recording. "But then again you did take her in, and that's a hanging crime in my book."

Realization dawned on them at the same time. They sprinted for the door just as the Jokermobile exploded, shattering the remaining glass. Flames licked across nearly every available surface and thick smoke filled the room pressing down on their lungs. Quinn looked around at the blazing fire; it was unlikely they'd be able to make it to the exit.

"Adieu, Brittany Pierce. I'll toast your memory as you and your friends become toast."

"He could have at least finished us off with a funny gag" she said, glaring at the charred remains of the Jokermobile. She seemed more concerned with her relationship than imminent death from smoke inhalation.

"Wheels isn't going to take me down that easily" Santana growled. She pulled a cactus out of the rubble. She cradled it in her hands like an infant. "Grow for mama." she said. The plant immediately shot up to a towering height. It barely stood upright, straining against its own weight. When it reached the ceiling, Santana picked off a sharp piece of wood. "Forgive me", she whispered as she drove the stake in. Waves of sap doused the fire and soaked them from head to toe.

"Quite impressive"

Quinn turned towards the voice unprepared for the shock seeing the Joker in the flesh. By physical standards, he shouldn't be intimidating. His thin frame was routinely dwarfed by the size of his much larger henchmen. However, the accident that changed Artie Abrams, a mild mannered independent film director, into Gotham's most vicious psychopath bleached his skin white and his hair green. The harsh colors emphasized the angularity of his face and the malice in his eyes. Regardless of his short stature, the Joker was terrifying. Many a rookie cop hadn't lived to regret underestimating the Joker since he lost his legs. Though painted the same ridiculous purple and green as the Jokermobile, the chair was a marvel of modern weaponry. Bullet proof and equipped with an untold number of guns, knives and "special party favors," it was as lethal as its owner was unstable.

"I had hoped that gag would take care of you, but at least it did serve as a delightful distraction. Now, I'll get to add a personal touch." The Joker pressed a button on his armrest that released a sickly green gas into the air. "Don't worry girls, I'm sure you'll have the last laugh."

Quinn was sure the gas was Joker venom. This is not how she saw her life ending, choking on her own laughter in uncontrollable spasms that resulted in a painful death. The venom would discolor her skin and stretch her face into a permanent grin. She wouldn't even get to have an open casket. She'd just started reciting a prayer to St. Benedict under her breath when Santana knocked her and Brittany back towards the broken window. Brittany went through it and landed hard in the tangle of bushes outside. Quinn looked to make sure she was moving before turning back to the fight inside.

Santana grew enormous spider plants to absorb the gas before wrapping a vine tightly around the Joker's neck. "Nice try, cripple. But unfortunately for you, I'm immune to your pathetic venom. Let's see if you're immune to a lack of oxygen,"

Sirens sounded in the distance as Santana tightened her grip around his body, gagging him and pulling him up from the chair. His eyes bulged and his face turned a mottled red. Santana walked closer to where the Joker dangled limply, his legs sticking out at odd angles. "We're ending this tonight, Stubbles."

Quinn stepped forward and put her hand on Santana's shoulder. "That's enough, Santana. GCPD are on their way."

"What the hell kind of catnip did you smoke? He'll escape again next week."

"Santana, this is cold-blooded murder. Do you want that on your conscience?"

Santana paused to look at Quinn. The incredulous look on her face would have been funny if the situation weren't so serious. "Haven't you heard? I'm a vengeful bitch without a conscience. Really, Quinn, stop fucking the good guys. They're warping your common sense." She turned away.

Before she could turn away, Quinn yanked her arm hard. "But is that all you ever want to be?" Santana shook her off and clenched her fist. The vines wrapped even tighter. Quinn could see the Joker didn't have much more time. Quinn looked at Santana and saw the determination in her eyes. She really meant to kill him. The sirens sounded much closer now. Picking up the broken leg of their coffee table, she moved behind Santana.

"You'll thank me later." She hit Santana across the head hard, hoping it was enough to knock her out, but not to leave any permanent damage.

When Santana came to, uniformed GCPD officers escorted a bound, gagged and unconscious Joker down the stairs. Quinn teased Puck saying they might keep him a little longer this time if Puck spent less time drinking and more time working. He thanked her for her help before turning to leave. Quinn took a calming breath in preparation for the fight she knew was coming, but when she turned around Santana was gone.

* * *

If Quinn didn't like it when Santana and Brittany fought, she absolutely hated fighting with Santana herself. The routine was off. For about a week, Santana spent nearly every minute in her lab sulking. When Quinn happened to catch her in another area of the house, she quickly made an excuse to leave. When she finally stopped avoiding Quinn, things got worse. Santana sniped and insulted until Quinn seriously wanted to punch her face in. She sat fuming over their most recent clash when Brittany settled next to her.

"Is Santana still mad?"

Quinn nodded, "Or she permanently added pettiness to her long list of flaws."

"She just needs time. She sometimes gets overprotective of me. I just wish she would try to get where I'm coming from." The way she said it confirmed that this was a long-standing argument. Quinn admitted she was curious though.

"What is there to understand, Britt? The Joker is evil. He can't be that good of a boyfriend."

Brittany looked at her as if she were explaining something to a child. "Things look different from the outside, you know? Did you know Santana put Artie in that chair?"

Quinn scoffed, "That's not surprising considering how bloodthirsty she was the other night."

Brittany shook her head. "No that's not what I mean. He laughs about it like it's a great joke, no hard feelings. Quinn, He's really not all bad."

Brittany turned to the newly repaired window, clearly searching for the right words. She was more serious than Quinn had ever seen her. "I could say that on the surface, I'm attracted to his charm and also his pain. I've always been into to the tortured, dangerous types. That's how I ended up with Santana."

Quinn looked away as that burning feeling from the other night returned and settled heavy in her chest.

"But, if you're asking me why I love him, it's because I'm the only one who knows him. Everyone else always sees the Joker laugh. Only I get to see Artie cry"

Quinn nodded weakly, her mind stuck on Brittany's earlier revelation. She thought about how close she and Santana were and how Santana notoriously could not stand anyone but Brittany for long periods of time. Quinn heard rumors about them, but chalked them up to mere gossip. She wasn't surprised they had, _maybe have_, a thing. Santana was unlikely to ever consort with a man again. Brittany seemed open enough to disregard gender. What surprised Quinn was the way solid evidence hurt.

As Brittany got up to go check on Santana, Quinn wondered why she cared. She dreaded learning the answer.

* * *

**For reference:**

The Jokermobile is a real thing. It's kind of old school but I liked when they used in GCS so I kept it. You can read about it at dc. wikia wiki/Jokermobile

St. Benedict is patron saint of both people afflicted with poison and dying people in general. I imagine Quinn would definitely know a saint for every situation.


	4. Chapter 4

"So Dr. Lopez, what do you see yourself bringing to S.T.A.R Labs, aside from your stellar references and credentials?"

Santana shifted in her chair in an attempt to keep from rolling her eyes. Questions like that were absurd and the main reason why she hated interviews. Really, what did she need besides her numerous degrees and history of excellent work? Since when was that not enough? It made her rethink whether this was something she really wanted to do. It would only be downhill from here. Interviews were just the start of the politics and networking needed to succeed in any industry. Santana just didn't have the people skills for this. Or the patience.

She proceeded to rattle off several platitudes about teamwork and her love of science. Dr. Schuster appeared to be eating it up. It was so easy to tell these people what they wanted to hear. Santana didn't like interviews, but she recognized them in as necessary evil. Before "becoming" Poison Ivy, she'd certainly practiced for them enough between graduate school, research grants, and post-doctoral fellowships. Even then she'd found the process of selling herself and justifying her candidacy tedious and slightly demeaning.

Most of all, it was unwarranted. She was several times more qualified than the fool in front her; she'd looked him up. He'd earned mediocre grades at second-rate universities and his outrageously simplistic doctoral thesis made her wonder how he'd even gotten the position as Executive Director of S.T.A.R Labs. When she met him, it became clear. He was what most would think handsome and exceedingly charming. Santana found him smarmy. She was pretty sure the most complicated chemical formula he'd ever dealt with was the massive buildup of products in his hair.

Still sacrifices must be made. She wanted to get into S.T.A.R Labs. She needed to get into their state of the art facilities. Science Technology and Advanced Research Laboratories was the premier research lab in the country. It was founded to be a nationwide research organization free of any government oversight or business interests. Santana liked that. It didn't hurt that it had nearly unlimited funding. The place was a scientist's dream. She was willing to waste an hour of her time to gain access to it.

Dr. Schuster asked several more questions, including 'Where do you see your career progression at S.T.A.R Labs in 10 years?' Seriously, did this guy moonlight as a high school guidance counselor? Surely he realized that any progression for her would result in him losing _his_ job. She played along and soon the ordeal was over.

"Well, Dr. Lopez, there is some paperwork to fill out, but I look forward to welcoming you to our team." As expected, he'd offered her the job on the spot, leaving her torn between satisfaction and irritation. They left his office and Dr. Schuster shook her hand again holding on just a little too long. He suggested that she meet the rest of "the team." Santana wondered about his seeming obsession with teamwork. She nodded and followed him to the main research area.

"I'm sure you'll all join me in extending a warm welcome to our new Director of Biomedical Research, Dr. Santana Lopez." His hand rested heavily on her shoulder as he smiled down at her. It came off more as creepy but she could tell he was harmless. At least he wasn't trying to look down her blouse. That was more than could be said for the rest of the staff.

The team was made up of only two other people, a man and a woman. She'd been told that a few were in the field but that was still far less than the group of twelve core scientists the Bio-division usually employed. Apparently Schuster was having trouble with recruitment. The rather friendly looking black woman introduced herself as Mercedes Jones. She smiled widely and offered her hand, seeming genuinely pleased to meet Santana. The other man sat with his feet propped up on a desk not even bothering to acknowledge Schuster's presence. He swaggered over, raking his eyes up and down her body.

"Dr. Josh Coleman" he said, "Associate Director of Botanical Research." His gaze made her skin crawl. She had to look away from his lecherous grin to keep from slapping it off of his face. Coleman stepped close enough that she nearly choked on the cloying scent of his cologne. He gave her what she imagined he thought was a charming smile. "I'm looking forward to working _very_ closely with you."

This was why she hated people. It didn't matter that she had doctorates in Biology, Chemistry and Botany. It didn't matter that her research had been published when she was still an undergraduate. It didn't matter that she was a coworker. Hell, it didn't even matter that she was technically Coleman's superior; she wore a skirt and that made her fair game. And if she killed him right now, by society's standards she'd be wrong.

Mercedes caught her eye and sent her an understanding look. She shrugged in a way that said, _'let it go_'. It appeared this kind of crap was routine here. She'd thought such a supposedly egalitarian organization would be different. Apparently not. Her disappointment soon gave way to anger. Mercedes pushed him out of the way just as he'd opened his mouth, probably to spew something offensive. She glanced at Schuster who remained steadfastly oblivious to the tension.

"I'll take it from here, Dr. Schue" She turned to Santana and said, "Come on girl, let me show you around" Santana was still undecided on attacking Coleman but the firm pressure of a hand on her back steered her away. They walked over to a private workstation. Santana figured it was Mercedes' since it was filled with pictures of her and a rather multicultural group of friends. They looked like an outlandish Benetton ad. There was also a picture of her kissing a vaguely familiar blond man.

"Hey," she said. Santana looked up. "Sorry about Josh. He's a jerk. I've been tempted to just clock him more than once."

That was unsurprising. "So why haven't you?"

Mercedes gestured to her desk, cluttered with papers and files. "I love the work I do here. I'm not going to let a jackass ruin something I've worked for all my life. Especially since I'm smarter than he is."

Santana looked at her for a few moments. "You know what, Wheezy, I respect that."

Luckily, the Biochemical lab was actually on a separate floor. Schuster explained something about biohazards and containment but Santana had quickly realized he was much more tolerable if you didn't listen to what he said. What was important was that she only saw the other members of her department during the weekly focus meetings Dr. Schuster insisted on. These "meetings" largely consisted of him writing their project goals on a large board in the conference room and them discussing their ideas. Santana rarely contributed as she found them a waste of her time.

What surprised Santana was surprised how much she enjoyed Mercedes. Though she technically worked under Dr. Coleman, Mercedes largely functioned independently with the implied support of Dr. Schuster. The same clueless attitude that allowed Coleman to get away with blatant sexual harassment let Mercedes get away with going behind his back and over his head to get her work done. He was rarely consulted during experiments and kept out of the loop as much as possible. Mercedes often showed him up during meetings by subtly calling attention to his ignorance. She really toed the line between passive aggression and outright insubordination. While Santana was more an _aggressive_ aggression type of girl, she wholly approved of Mercedes' methods. Not that Coleman wouldn't get his eventually.

After a particularly painful meeting, Santana decided to leave early. Her assigned project had been completed in a fraction of the expected time, giving her considerable time to focus on her own projects. Today though, she'd hit a wall. It seemed none of her tests were going right. Frustrated, she'd lit out of the lab as soon as she caught wind of Schuster's plan to organize a team-bonding event at a local cocktail bar. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make that tolerable.

* * *

Soft grunts pierced the air as Brittany wandered towards the main section of the house. The sky was just starting to lighten, but the house was still enveloped in the silence of the night. As quietly as possible, she slipped into the living room glancing around. She didn't see where the sounds were coming from until she finally looked down and saw Quinn in the middle of a rather complicated pushup. This wasn't the first time she'd been woken up by Quinn rambling around in the middle of the night. She could usually be found later reading, watching TV, or unsuccessfully trying to navigate the kitchen by herself. Quinn was an awful cook.

She'd let it go the past few times assuming that Quinn was just nocturnal like Lord Tubbington. Brittany imagined burglary was much harder in the daytime. However, she decided that the way Quinn was going at it now signified some bigger problem that Quinn wasn't dealing with properly.

"How long have you been up?" she asked plopping down onto the couch.

Quinn stopped moving. She lowered her body and rested on the floor. "Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"You didn't answer my question."

Quinn looked away. After a moment she rolled onto her back. The patch of sweat running down her shirt indicated that she'd been at this for a while.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brittany tried again.

"Talk about what?"

"Quinn, it's me. Don't pretend you're fine. I know something is wrong. " Brittany leaned forward to force Quinn to look at her. "I've known you for years _and_ I used to talk to people about their problems for a living."

"I don't have a problem. Unless you count needing to finish my workout before the sun comes up and it gets too hot." With that, she hooked her feet under the couch and started doing sit-ups in an obvious attempt to get Brittany to go away.

Brittany decided not to point out that push-ups and sit-ups could just as easily be done later since their house had central air. The only room in the entire building that ever got truly hot was Santana's greenhouse. Pushing Quinn too hard would just make her retreat further into herself so she sat back and watched. She could wait; her patience was legendary. Quinn was unable to continue her crunches under such a watchful stare. She sat up with a huff and gracefully moved to sit on the couch. Brittany smiled at her warmly.

"Lie down, it makes it easier."

Quinn looked unconvinced.

"Trust me. I have a degree, remember?" She tugged on Quinn's shoulder until she lowered herself. Her head rested against Brittany's thighs. Brittany shifted so Quinn's head was firmly in her lap.

"Ready to talk about it, now?"

Quinn nodded, looking past Brittany and out the window. Several minutes passed in silence. Looking down, she saw that Quinn seemed to be struggling with what to say. She brushed a hand through her short blonde hair and tried to reassure her. "Take your time"

Brittany sat in silence with Quinn, continuing to pet her hair. She could wait, as long as needed. This was the first step. As a friend, she wanted to let Quinn know she had someone she could talk to. They could work up to more. As a psychiatrist, she wished she were still practicing. Quinn would be the most fascinating patient of her career. Besides Artie of course.

Sometimes Brittany regretted giving up psychology for a life of crime. It was one of the few things she regretted. She'd loved watching people, finding out what caused their pain; what made them tick. She also loved helping them when they needed it. Helping them get past the damage and dangers in their own minds. Sometimes she could make a huge difference. But sometimes she couldn't.

Brittany shook herself out of her thoughts and looked down at the woman in her lap. Quinn was fast asleep. With her eyes closed, the dark circles beneath them illustrated her fatigue. Brittany leaned back and tried to get comfortable. She had nowhere to be, so she might as well let Quinn get some much-needed rest.

The sun was high in the sky when Quinn began to stir. Her breathing quickened and she burrowed into Brittany as if to hide from something. Brittany murmured softly, attempting to calm her. Quinn had just quieted down when Lord Tubbington waddled into the room. He managed to drag himself up onto the low window where a ray of sunshine provided a great napping place. Unfortunately, in his struggle not to slide back off he rolled into a stack of Quinn's books, sending them tumbling to the floor in a loud clatter.

Quinn tensed and jolted up. Apparently, she had forgotten that she was in Brittany's lap because the feel of a hand on her shoulder sent her into a panic. She rolled away, lashing out as she tumbled onto the floor. Her nails caught Brittany along her arm on the way.

"Shh…Quinn, its ok."

Brittany watched her closely as realization dawned. She looked at the angry red scratches on Brittany's arm and her eyes filled with remorse. Brittany didn't think the scratches were too bad. She'd gotten worse from her cats. She was just glad Quinn hadn't caught her with the razor sharp claws in her gloves. Naturally, at the worst possible time, Santana entered the house slamming the door behind her. She took in Quinn crouched on the floor and Brittany bleeding on the couch.

"What the hell is this?"

"Its nothing. It was an accident."

"How do you accidently claw someone's skin of?"

Santana narrowed her eyes at Quinn, who still hadn't said a word. Brittany desperately wanted to defuse the situation. Her roommates were still not really speaking except to argue. She didn't want this to make it even worse.

"I told you about bringing home strays," Santana said, acid lacing her words. "They always manage to turn on you."

Brittany frowned as Quinn flinched away from Santana's harsh words. She stood up and pulled Santana to face her. "Santana, stop. Its not a big deal." The scratches stung a lot, but Quinn was on the brink of tears. Instead of snapping back at Santana like she usually did Quinn merely looked between them before hurrying out of the room, murmuring an apology as she passed. Santana still looked angry, but now she seemed a little confused.

"You should be nicer to Quinn," she said as she started tidying up the room.

Santana walked into the kitchen and sat down at the counter. When Brittany followed, she crossed her arms defiantly.

"Why?" Her face had that childishly rebellious look Brittany usually found cute. Now it was just annoying. Santana could hold a stupid grudge longer than anyone she'd ever met. Even when she'd been the one in the wrong.

"She is going through something. I'm pretty sure she isn't sleeping that much." It was likely more than that. Just because Quinn's scars weren't on the outside didn't mean they weren't there. You could see them in the way her eyes were sad even when she smiled. She walked behind Santana and stroked her the same way she'd just stroked Quinn's. "She really needs us to be her friends."

"Fine", Santana huffed. "I wont use any of the awesome pussy jokes I've been saving for her, but I can't promise anything else."

Brittany rolled her eyes. Santana was just like a kid sometimes. She kissed the top of her head and went to start lunch.

* * *

Quinn crept into the empty church, the sounds of her footfalls echoing across the cold marble. The only sources of light were the few votive candles lit near the altar and the dim moonlight refracting through the stained glass. She found a pew near the center aisle and knelt. To her own ears, her breath sounded harsh and overly loud. She leaned back and reached out into the silence. She reached for the solace she'd once found in the smell of incense and candlewax and piety.

She seized upon the prayers of her youth, the words that were more than words but were also promises and requests and supplication. Words at once both small and vast that had long been carved into her memory. Her mind pushed each verse through her lips as if working independently to intercede for her heart.

Quinn lost track of the time spent kneeling, even as her joints grew stiff and the deluge of prayer dried to a trickle and then to silence. She stared and she knelt, searching for some elusive comfort in the forbidding stone faces that seemed to close in on her. Their immobile expressions casted censure and offered no clemency.

"I never took you for a Bible-thumper, Quinn."

Recognizing the voice, that smoky rasp so recently used to cut at her, Quinn sighed and sat back, cringing when her knees protested the motion after such a prolonged period of inactivity.

"What are you doing here, Santana. This church is closed."

"I guess you didn't get the memo either then, huh? It took me ages to find you."

Quinn looked at the woman next to her, trying to comprehend why Santana would be looking for her. They'd been at each other's throats for the majority of the past week. Now though, she didn't see the thinly veiled contempt she'd grown accustomed to. Also absent was the impish spite that was Santana's way of being friendly. She saw only pure concern in the depths of Santana's eyes and was unsure how to handle that. Rather than acknowledge the unspoken questions, she deflected.

"How did you even know I was gone?"

"Please Quinn, it's not really stealthy when you trample my azaleas on the way out. I felt you fumbling around in my bushes like a virgin on Prom night.

Quinn was long past questioning the "bond" Santana had with her flowers and shrubs. If only she could summon that depth of emotion for people. Well, people other than Brittany.

"Must you be so crass? This is a house of God"

Santana shrugged, clearly unperturbed at the prospect of blasphemy. She just kept staring at Quinn, waiting, showing more patience than Quinn had ever seen from her. Quinn relented.

"I come here sometimes. To think. To pray"

Santana crossed her legs, shifting closer and thumping her knee against Quinn's thigh.

"Well instead of talking to someone who isn't listening, why don't you just talk to me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I understand you and this place far more than you can imagine" As if to prove her point, Santana closed her eyes and spoke in a reverent voice.

"Iron sharpeneth iron; so a man sharpeneth the countenance of his friend."

She gestured between them and then to the statues and stained glass looming over them, ignoring Quinn's open-mouthed state of shock.

"See? Even they want you to tell me what's up"

Quinn quickly recovered. Santana might know a Proverb or two, but that didn't mean she knew a damn thing about her.

"Make no friendship with an angry man; and with a furious man thou shalt not go lest thou learn his ways, and get a snare to thy soul."

Santana winced. She studied her hands for a moment, wringing them and for the first time looking uncomfortable. She kept her head down and spoke quietly.

"Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering. Forbearing one another and forgiving one another, if any man has a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye. And above all these things put on charity, which is the bond of perfectness"

Santana grasped her shoulder lightly, as if fearing Quinn would shrug her off. Quinn could see the apology shimmering in her dark eyes. The silent plea made Santana seem younger and innocent and caring and exactly what Quinn needed in this moment.

"Quinn, just tell me."

"I can't stop seeing him." Quinn blurts out into the muted sanctuary. The baffled look on Santana's face forces her to clarify. "My father."

Quinn sat beside Santana, not looking at her, her eyes locked on the crucifix above them. With a shaky voice she allowed the splinters and cracks inside of her to spread, to widen and allow long suppressed pain to seep out. Like a faulty dam, she couldn't seem to stop herself once she started. She kept her voice to a whisper, afraid that anything louder would hurt too much. She was aware of nothing save the ache of her memories and Santana's warm hand on her back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

"For the majority of my childhood, I had a traditional, albeit dysfunctional, family. An abusive evangelical father and a depressed alcoholic mother weren't the ideal combination of parental support, but it was fine. No. It wasn't fine, but we -my sister and I- survived. We had each other. After my mother drank herself to death, I refused to stay and Frannie refused to leave."

Santana continued awkwardly patting her back, softly humming to encourage her to continue.

"My father must have gotten worse after I left. The next time I saw Fran, she'd been a bride, a mother, a widow and then a nun. She wasn't the girl I'd left behind. I wanted her to come with me, but she didn't quite appreciate my career choices. When my father found out, he decided that Catwoman was a demon that had possessed his little girl. It was his duty as a father to set me free."

"How did he plan to free you?" Santana asked softly.

"One of the more effective ways. With a knife through the heart."

"What happened?" Her voiced was thin and quiet with tension as she asked a question she already knew the answer to.

"I killed him. I used his own knife to slit his throat."

"Good for you."

"Be serious for once. I killed him. I killed my father while my sister looked at me like I was a monster. I am a monster. I lost the only person who ever loved me. But him; he's still here. Every night, reminding me of my sins."

"And that's your problem. You believe there is such a thing as sin."

Quinn recoiled and pushed Santana away from her. She stood and pulled her up, crowding into her space snarling, "Curb your sociopathic tendencies for once. Don't you have anything besides rage and hate inside of you? Any remorse for the lives you've taken?"

"Remorse for what? The people I've killed have all deserved it, befouling the earth your God gave to them. And treating their fellow men little better. This isn't about men and the Joker, or you and your father. This is about living or dying. You can follow rules x, y, and z all you want. Trust me, it will get you killed. "

Quinn stepped back and let her down. She felt the rigidity leave her arms leaving only heaviness. The moisture in her eyes began to sting and it was getting increasingly hard to hold back her tears. She refused to cry. Not here, not over her bastard of a father, not in front of Santana. She would not be that weak. Quinn turned to leave without another word, when a hand on her wrist pulled her back.

Santana reached around and pulled Quinn into her side. They were so close she had to feel the way Quinn was shaking.

"I know what it's like to do bad things, even if I don't feel bad about them. And I can tell you Quinn. This isn't your fault. You aren't a monster. Trust me I know what a monster looks like." She snapped her fingers as if reaching an epiphany. "Tell you what, I'll try to find non-violent ways to get what I want, if you promise never to call yourself that again."

They slowly left the church, Santana's arm still holding them tightly together. "Walk me home, kitten?" After a weak nod from Quinn, they started the long walk back.

The entire trip was shrouded in silence. Quinn couldn't find a way to describe how she felt, even to herself. Santana seemed content with just the sound of crackling leaves under their feet. For the first time since meeting her, Quinn found it impossible to tell what she was thinking. It was uncomfortable even as her warm embrace was soothing. Once back on the estate, they came to a stop. Santana let go of her and crossed her arms over her midsection. She looked small like she did before: open and vulnerable.

"I may not be drowning under massive doses of misplaced quilt, Quinn. But I promise you that I feel much more than just anger. "

Before Quinn could register the shifting and swirling emotions in her eyes, Santana stepped closer and pressed their lips together. The kiss was so soft it was barely there. Santana's mouth was warm and her tongue traced briefly over Quinn's before retreating. She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until she opened them and found Santana looking up at her rather sheepishly, as if she hadn't planned for that to happen. Her heart was pounding loudly in her chest, echoing in her ears, her veins and in the fingertips that so desperately wanted to pull Santana back to her.

Instead, Santana smiled faintly before she stepped back and quickly slipped into the house.

* * *

Sorry for the wait. I'm going to keep trying to make these longer each time as we get into hardcore Quinntana feelings territory.

Biblical quotes used in this chapter: Proverbs 27:17, Proverbs 22:24-25, and Colossians 3:12-14. I really hope I got the message across in this chapter, let me know if I didn't. As per the title there should be slight religious overtones in part of this story.


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